Behind the Mirrored Surfaces

So clear the mirror of my days.

Every imperfection's mote,

Each errant thought that enters stays

The clear and calm descending note

Of peace that long I've striven for.

I look and see a stranger's face

Or recognize a visage poor

That greets me with a worn embrace.

Anger and impatience glow

Like torches in a brilliant sky

But hidden is the solemn slow

Progression of the deity.

I wonder at this pristine glass

That lets me view the outward soul

But not the God behind the crass

Embodiment outgrown its role.

To be like a serpent that sheds its skin

And slough off old encumbrances,

Acquainted with the light within

Behind the mirrored surfaces.